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Run bunny, run

So I was look­ing out my stu­dio win­dow — and two lit­tle girls from up the block are fran­ti­cal­ly chas­ing a tiny bun­ny — my imme­di­ate thought is, they put their bun­ny down — and now they’ll nev­er catch it — so, being a world-class pro­cras­ti­na­tor — I hopped out­side to see if I could help catch the way­ward bun­ny — it because pret­ty obvi­ous after 30 sec­onds of talk­ing with the girls that

This wasn’t their bun­ny.

This was a wild bun­ny.

That the bun­ny wasn’t real­ly inter­est­ed in the car­rot they were wav­ing about — all this bun­ny want­ed to do was escape.

They didn’t real­ly have a plan for what to do with the bun­ny if they actu­al­ly man­aged to catch it.

Nei­ther was too keen on end­ing up at the emer­gency room for rab­bit bites (which I assured them hurt much worse than the shots they’d need to get)

They both agreed to let the bun­ny go — to nev­er chase wild bun­nies again — and they also agreed that the 185 lb. pig that lived next door didn’t run near­ly as fast as the bun­ny — and prob­a­bly didn’t bite.

As he ran away — the rab­bit looked back at me and (smiled?) I remind­ed him — I’m not his friend, I’m the guy who feeds the TOP of the neigh­bor­hood food chain — but if he want­ed to pitch a tent in my FRONT yard — I could prob­a­bly find him some food and shel­ter.